


Insta Friends

by FairyPrincessKjar



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, because I'm such trash for them, feysand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyPrincessKjar/pseuds/FairyPrincessKjar
Summary: When Feyre had first met Tamlin, she thought that it was the beginning of her own personal fairytale.  How wrong she had been! Now, trapped in a hellish nightmare, Feyre is desperate for an escape.  When a stranger contacts her for an outlandish art commission, Feyre can hardly refuse.  But will she end up getting more than she bargained for?
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Her heart thrummed wildly in her chest, a fearful, throbbing melody that seemed to permeate the very air she was struggling to breathe. Feyre bit her bottom lip roughly, nearly hard enough to draw blood, as her white, picture perfect house came into view. No, Tamlin’s house, not hers. It hadn’t felt like her home in months, not since that night. The night he had…. Feyre squeezed her eyelids shut, unable to hold back the onslaught of images that had been plaguing her every waking moment. Her stomach clench painfully as the memory washed over her, leaving her already shredded soul in tatters. 

_Feyre’s eyes flickered to her phone, her mouth set in a hard line. Tamlin was late… again. She sighed heavily through her nose, tossing her phone onto the couch as she stood. Cursing her fiancé’s name under her breath, Feyre trudged into the kitchen. She eyed the now cold meatloaf that sat on the countertop, one of Tam’s favorite dishes. Though she loathed the slimy substance, she had cooked it anyways. For him. The ass! Her nostrils flared along with her already simmering temper. It wasn’t the fact that he was late that got under Feyre’s skin. Tamlin working long hours and returning home late had become a common occurrence in the months since the announcement of the merger between his company, Spring Tech, and Hybern Inc. No, what really rankled her was that while Tamlin could remember every single purchase she had made in the past six months, down to the very last penny, he couldn’t seem to remember to call, or text at the very least, to let her know that he’s be late._

_Feyre was absentmindedly flipping through Netflix when the headlights from Tamlin’s car flashed through the open window blinds. Plastering a smile on her face, Feyre rushed towards the door. She yelped in surprise, nearly falling to the ground as she stumbled backwards, desperate to avoid colliding with the door as it abruptly swung open. Tamlin’s eyes glinted as he walked through the threshold, anger rolling off his body in thick, violent waves. He pushed past her without uttering a single word, and stalked into their bedroom. Feyre flinched as the door slammed behind him with a reverberating thud. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she followed him into the room._

_“Hey babe,” Feyre said, leaning her body against the doorframe. Her eyes raked over his form as he slid off his button-down shirt._

_“Do you need something?” he snapped, stooping down to untie his brown, wingtip dress shoes. Feyre bristled at his dismissive tone, her expression hardening._

_“I just wanted to see if you were hungry. There’s dinner in the fridge,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest._

_“Lucien and I ate at the office,” he grunted, as he began riffling through the contents of a dresser drawer, searching for a shirt to replace the one that now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She glowered at the piece of clothing, which would no doubt stay on the floor until tomorrow, when she would pick it up for him and take it to the dry-cleaners. It was kindling to the already smoldering embers of her temper._

_She sputtered indignantly, “I wish you would have told me you were eating at the office. I made meatloaf.”_

_“I was busy,” he said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly._

_Anger burned brightly in her eyes as she hissed, “You forgot? Are you fucking kidding me?”_

_“Yeah, I forgot. In case you didn’t know Feyre, some people actually have to work for a living,” Tamlin spat, taking a single step towards her. Feyre recoiled, his words hitting their mark, deep and brutal, just as he had intended._

_“Don’t be such a fucking ass, Tamlin. You’re the one who wanted me to stop working full time,” she snarled, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall._

_“By the Cauldron Feyre, you’re such a child sometimes,” he sighed in exasperation, running a hand along his jawline. “Look, let’s not make a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be, alright?” He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to her brow._

_“Fine,” she muttered, reluctantly wrapping her arms around his neck. She wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet, but she also didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening fighting._

_“I have a few phone calls to make,” he said, stepping out of her embrace. “Grab me a beer. I’ll be in the office.” Whatever tenuous hold she had been able to briefly regain on her temper suddenly snapped._

_“I’m not your fucking maid, Tamlin. Get your own Cauldron damned drink,” she shouted, the skin of her neck and cheeks flushing a deep scarlet._

_He stalked forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Feyre made to take a step back, but body betrayed her. It was as though her limbs had been immobilized. She stood frozen in place, unable to break eye contact with Tamlin as he approached. He was markedly taller than she was, but never before had he towered over her as he did in that moment. Feyre tilted her head back ever so slightly as he paused in front of her. Faster that she could detect, Tamlin raised his hand, cleaving the distance between them with brutal, efficient grace. Stars exploded behind her eyes, a white-hot pain tore through her body, down to her very soul, as his palm connected with her cheek._

Feyre wrenched her eyes open, yanked out of her memories and brought swiftly back to the present by the shrill, bleating horn sounding from the oncoming vehicle. She ran a hand roughly through her hair, swearing viciously under her breath. Turning onto the familiar street, Feyre’s eyes widened imperceptibly as they scanned the driveway. Tamlin’s black Audi was not in parked in its usual spot. A jagged, mirthless laugh erupted from her as she put her car into park. What a Cauldron damned mess her life had become! She was grateful, so incredibly grateful that her fiancé, the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, had not returned to the house yet. What did that say about her? About their relationship? Resting her head against the steering wheel, Feyre took in a shuddering breath, trying to rein in her tumultuous thoughts and emotions. _I have survived and I will continue to survive._ She repeated the words fiercely, willing her body into submission. Wiping the tears from her cheeks roughly, Feyre glanced at her reflection quickly. It wouldn’t do her any good for the neighbors to see her in tears, lest word get back to Tamlin. Forcing a smile in her face, Feyre stepped out of the car and walked into what had become a prison, and her own personal hell. 

##  *******

Feyre set down the paintbrush, the corners of her mouth quirking up as she scrutinized her work. While it may not have been her best work, but she was extremely happy with how it had turned out. The Lord of the Night. Yes, that’s what she’s call it. She quickly snapped a picture of the finished piece and then placed it on the bottom of the drying rack. She quickly, methodically begin clearing away her paints and brushes. It wasn’t that Tamlin didn’t like her painting, quite the opposite in fact. He had always encouraged ‘her little hobby’ as he liked to call it. To him, it was just an extra bit of sparkle that made his trophy shine. He saw only how her artistic talent could benefit him, so no, Tamlin most definitely did not mind her painting. The reason Feyre was so keen to keep her latest pieces hidden from him, was that he would start asking questions when they vanished. 

Tamlin had apologized profusely after that night. He had dozens and dozens of roses sent to the house. He had bought her an extravagant diamond necklace. He worshiped her body for hours, day and night. But the damage had been done. Whatever had been between them had been irrevocably shattered that night. The very next day, Feyre had opened a separate bank account, one he would not have access to. Had she any place to go, or any money of her own, she would have left much sooner. She had never been that close to her older sisters, Nesta and Elain. Even if they would have helped her, they lived on the other side of Prythian. She hadn’t talked to them in years, not since she had left her family home and moved in with Tamlin. She hadn’t realized until recently how isolated she had become to be. She had no friends either, save for the few that Tamlin approved of, Ianthe and Lucien. Even then, they were first and foremost his employees. So Feyre was on her own, which was fine. She could manage just fine without anyone else. 

Little by little, Feyre had set aside money for her future, a future she envisioned for herself, a future without Tamlin. Money was by far the her biggest obstacle. Every cent she made working part-time at The Book Worm, a small, family owned bookstore, went into the joint account that Tamlin had control over. Alis, her boss, had already assured Feyre that she would be able to switch to a full-time schedule whenever she was ready. But she couldn’t work any extra hours without Tamlin noticing. 

She had nearly given up hope of ever being able to save enough money in order to afford her own place when, out of the blue, one of her instagram followers had messaged her. It wasn’t until that conversation that Feyre even considered selling her artwork on commission. She sent out a message out to her followers to see if there would be any interest in purchasing her artwork, and was blown away by the responses. She had been contacted by a few people wanting her to create their original characters, but a majority of her commissions had been from her favorite book series, The Night Lord. She had come across the series one day while stocking the shelves at The Worm. Alis had seen her eyes them continuously, and had gifted them to her as a Solstice gift. Feyre had immediately fallen in love with the characters, especially the main character, Night Lord. He was by far her favorite to draw, though she could never seem to get the shade of his violet eyes just right. The author, Rhysand Night, was absolutely amazing at world building and by far her favorite author. When she had learned that Rhysand would be in the city for a book signing event after the most recent book in the series had been released, she had been desperate to go. However, it had fallen on the same evening as a fundraiser for Tamlin’s company. Tamlin had merely tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said that he needed her by his side. End of discussion. 

Feyre had promised herself that if she ever had the chance again, she wouldn’t waste it. She picked up her phone, her eyes shinning with a bright, new fierceness. She logged into her instagram account, the one Tamlin didn’t know about. It took her just a few moments to upload the photo, The Lord of the Night, and add the appropriate tags. Hopefully it would help her page gain the attention she so desperately needed, maybe even lead to a few new commissions, if she were lucky that is. Feyre closed the app, a hopeful smile stretching across her face. If she were lucky, she’d be able to log into her account later that evening. Tamlin would most likely lock himself in his office, leaving her to her own devices. Stretching out her stiff limbs, Feyre walked to the kitchen to pour herself a celebratory glass of wine. 

##  *******

The smartwatch vibrated against his skin, obnoxious as it was insistent. Snarling softly, Rhys removed the Cauldron damned thing, tossing it unceremoniously onto the coffee table. He loved his family, and appreciated their concern for him. Really, he did. But tonight… tonight he just needed to be alone. He poured himself a knuckles length of the dark, amber liquid in the crystal decanter before him, one of the more ostentatious items Mor had gifted him during the last Solstice. After unwrapping the gift, he had stared at her for a full minute, face full of incredulity. Mor had simply raised a brow and retorted, “What’s the use of being a brooding, stuffy, old author if you don’t even look the part?” A small small tugged at his lips at the thought of his cousin’s antics. He was lucky to have her in his life, lucky to have them all in his life actually. Sighing heavily, Rhys raised his glass to his lips. 

“To freedom,” he said softly, before tipping the glass back, relishing the burning warmth it offered. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! So…here’s part two! Is this something that I should continue?!? Let me know what you think! I live for your reactions and comments!  
> ~ Rachel

Rhys slammed his pillow down atop his face, a desperate attempt to block out the deafening sound that had wrenched him wholly from sleep’s clutches. Perhaps if he ignored the insistent, pervasive pounding on his bedroom door, the offending person would just leave. A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped him as the hammering continued. His family, Cass and Mor in particular, were relentless in all endeavors, especially when it came to those they loved. Busybodies. After the events of last year, he understood his families overprotective tendencies. He did, really. But, there were just some demons they weren’t able to slay for him. This alone, was his to endure. 

Rhys took in a slow, shuddering breath as the final remnants of sleep slowly ebbed away, leaving him feeling somewhat empty and raw. He was able to keep the memories hidden well enough in the recesses of him mind throughout the day. Both the new manuscript he was working on and his meddlesome family saw to that. It was when he finally succumbed to the exhaustion that that ransacked his body, that his mind, vulnerable as a newborn kitten in sleep, eventually betrayed him. Night after night, without exception, old horrors were intertwined with figments of his imagination. As an author, his vivid imagination had always been a prized asset, crucial to his success in his chosen career. Growing up, Az had teased him mercilessly about his proclivity towards the dramatics. Now it seemed more like a curse than a blessing, for the dreams that had plagued him last night had been different, a whole new type of hell to endure. A female voice, as familiar to him as his own, stopped his thoughts from continuing to travel down an incredibly dark path as she cursed his name soundly though the door. 

“Go away Morrigan!” Rhys groaned, unceremoniously launching his pillow across the room, where it hit the wall with a soft plonk before gently sliding to the floor. Light poured in through the window, assaulting his sleep-addled senses. He rubbed at his eyes wearily, entirely too tired to deal with his cousin’s tendency to fuss. 

“Cass, Az, and Amren are already at Sevenda’s,” Mor said, her singsong voice grating on his already jagged, fraying nerves. 

“I’m not going,” he said, rubbing at his temples, which was throbbing painfully with the onslaught of a headache. A sharp thud sounded, no doubt from her foot colliding with the door, followed by a string of fowl curse words. Rhys resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Mor had always rivaled him for being dramatic, though Amren wasn’t far behind. For a heartbeat, a heavy silence reverberated throughout the house. As that moment stretched on painfully, Rhys found himself wondering if Mor had turned around, abandoning him to his own devices for once. A soft, frustrated sigh sounded in the hallway, confined that she hadn’t left. He honestly didn’t know if he should be relieved, or irritated.

When Mor finally spoke, her words were clipped and impatient, “You’re not missing another day with the family. You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.” 

“With all due respect cousin, fuck off,” he said, running a hand roughly through his hair. Memories stirred within him at Mor’s words, memories he’d fought tooth and nail to forget, to leave in the past where they belonged. He pushed the thoughts away, before any were able to escape the carefully constructed walls that had been built around them. 

“Rhysand! By the Cauldron, if you don’t stop your brooding and get your stubborn, wretched ass out of bed, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? You’ll nail my balls to the wall? Like I haven’t heard that threat before.” Rhys snorted, struggling to extract his limbs from the entangled mess that his blankets had become. He scowled deeply as his bedroom door was flung open, the handle striking against wall with a resounding thud. 

Mor gave him a smile that was laced with venom as she responded, “No, dearest cousin. Your balls are safe… for now. I’ll simply tell Cassian who was really responsible for starting that bar fight the last time we were in Adriata.” 

Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and ground out, “You wouldn’t dare.” Mor simply raised an immaculately groomed brow as she held his gaze. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” he growled, sending a particularly vulgar gesture in her direction. 

Mor gave him a saccharine smile and said, “I knew you’d come to your senses.” She closed the distance between them, enveloping him in a bone crushing hug. 

“You’re a menace. You know that right?” Rhys huffed, ruffling the hair on the top of her head. Mor squawked indignantly, swatted his hand away as she stepped out of his embrace. 

“I love you too, prick. Now hurry your ass up. I’m starving,” she said, sending him a vulgar gesture over her shoulder as she sauntered out of the room. 

## ***

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Cass said, giving Rhys his signature lopsided smirk. “The high and mighty author has deigned to grace us lowly peasants with his presence.”

“That’s ‘incredibly handsome, high and mighty author’ to you, you insufferable bastard,” Rhys chuckled, clasping Cass on the shoulder. 

“Mor, what did you have to bribe him with in order to get him here? A new facial mask? A day at the spa?” Cass asked, nudging Rhys lightly with an elbow.

“I simply reminded him that it would be in his best interest to come with me,” she said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, though Rhys could see the corners of her lips twitching up. 

“Meaning, that you threatened to kick his ass from here to the next continent if he didn’t,” Amren drawled, toying with the rather impressive ruby which adorned her neck, its delicate golden chain snaked around a finger. 

“She did no such thing.” Rhys scoffed as he slid into the empty seat next to Cassian. 

“It wouldn’t be much of a threat anyways,” Az said, rubbing at the stubble that grew along his jawline. Rhys had to suppress the laugh that bubbled up at the sight. His brothers had always had a habit of betting on every little thing they could think of, the more ridiculous the bet, the more serious they both seemed to take it. Az’s facial hair was the latest in their long, and absurd list of wagers.

“And why is that?” Mor bristled, the glare she sent in Az’s direction would have left a weaker man in shreds.

Az crossed his arms over his chest and said, “It’s not so much a threat, as a fact. We all know that little Rhysie wouldn’t stand a chance against you Mor.” Cassian tipped back his head and barked out a laugh. Mor flashed Az a bright smile, mollified by his response. 

“Nice to know where your loyalty lies,” Rhys said, placing a hand on his chest in mock indignation. 

“Well, can you blame us? I mean, look at those scrawny, dainty little things you have the audacity to call arms. At least Mor comes to the gym with me every single day,” Cass said, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. 

“Not all of us have the luxury to spend every waking moment at the gym. Some of us actually have to work for a living,” Rhys said, cocking his head to the side as he gave Cass a once-over. “And brother, make sure you’re being careful with those steroids. You know what they say about the side effects… I’d hate for your ‘favorite part’ to suffer any permanent damage.”

“You cocky little shit,” Cass said, his shoulders flaring back as he turned to face Rhys fully. The disgruntled look on Cass’s face had Rhys tipping his head back and roaring with laughter. 

“As fun as it is to watch your pissing match, Cass and Rhys, what’s our plan for today? Why don’t we go see the new Star Wars movie?” Mor asked, her eyes roaming across the drink menu. 

“Nope, no movies today. It’s my turn to plan our activities for the day,” Cass said, waggling his finger back and forth. A chorus of groans erupted from the table.

“What in the name of the Mother do you have planned for us this time? I’m not going sky diving again,” Mor hissed, her nails tapping a threatening tune across the table. The grin that spread across Cass’s face was a truly frightening thing. He rubbed his hands together, nearly crowing with glee as he said, “Even better. We’re getting tattoos.” It was utterly silent at the table for a brief moment, before promptly exploding. Rhys tried, and failed desperately, not to laugh, given the murderous expression on Amren’s face. Cass, to his credit, did not shrink under the small, yet terrifying woman’s gaze. 

Rhys was, in that moment, exceedingly glad that Mor had forced him to join the rest of the family for breakfast. He felt a small, imperceptible weight lifting from his shoulders as he gazed around the table. He was so incredibly grateful to have them in his life, each and every one of them. Rhys knew, deep down in his soul, that they would never give up on him, no matter how much of a prick he was. Even if he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve them, he was grateful for them nonetheless. 

*******

Rhys’s eyes flickered down to where his laptop sat, discarded after being unable to find anything that held his interest, for more than a few minutes, on Netflix. Sighing heavily, he haphazardly tossed the unopened book he held onto the glass tabletop before him, nearly topping over a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. Rhys was in one of those inexplicable moods, desperate for a distraction, yet wholly dissatisfied and disappointed with all of the options currently available to him. Mor, Cass, and Az were out getting a few drinks at Rita’s, the new bar that they had recently discovered. Mor had practically lived there ever since they stumbled upon it, happily indulging herself with the delights of the self-serve beer wall. As much as he could use a stiff drink, Rhys honestly didn’t think he would be able to tolerate being in a crowded bar, given his current mood. The last time they had all gone out, he had nearly been mauled by an exuberant group of fans, barely old enough to be legally drinking. 

“You can be their sugar daddy,” Cassian had crowed, nearly laughing himself silly. 

Rhys had avoided going back ever since. It wasn’t as though he didn’t enjoy interacting with his fans, quite the opposite in fact. Rhys absolutely loved connecting with his readers, discussing his work with them, answering their questions in an absurd amount of detail. Maybe it made him the worst sort of narcissistic bastard, but he couldn’t deny that a large part of him enjoyed the inherent fame that went along with being a bestselling author. After the release of The Court of Rivers and Stars, the second book in his Night Lord series, he had pleaded with his publisher, damn near gotten down on his knees and begged, to add a few more locations to the book tour. That was during the long, arduous months leading up to his eventual break from Hybern Publishing though, and they had answered him with a resounding no. Now that he was self publishing his books, he had to be both meticulous and strategic while planning his public appearances. Though that didn’t stop him from shaking every hand and signing every scrap of paper that came his way. 

Rhys loved writing, and everything that came along with it- the good, the bad, and everything in between. But sometimes, it all just became a little bit too much. Nights like tonight, he wished that he could leave behind ‘Rhysand Night- Prythian’s Playboy Author,’ as the tabloids loved to call him, and be Rhys. Just Rhys, without the expectations and assumptions. More than anything, Rhys wished that there was a way he could be seen, really seen, for who he truly was, and not the mask he always hid behind. As his eyes flickered down to the blank screen once again, an idea began to form. A smile began to creep across his face as he reached for his laptop. Maybe there was a way after all…

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! So…I know it’s been forever since I posted anything! Thanks for being patient with me! Hopefully, I’ll be posting more regularly from now on! Hope you enjoyed this! I’m planning for two, maybe three, more parts to this. Let me know what you think! I live for your reactions and comments! 
> 
> ~Rachel
> 
> Find me on tumblr- illyrianbeauty


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